The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  Dan scratched his head again, and must have thought that I was qualifying in lunacy; but he got the shoes, and not a moment too soon, for, as I came on deck, I saw a shadow on the gangway. The man was leaving the yacht at that moment, and I followed him, drawing my cap right over my eyes, and lurking behind every inch of cover.

  Once out into the city, and having turned two or three times to satisfy himself that he had no one after him, Paolo struck for Broadway; thence with staggering gait, the result of his weakness, he made straight for the City Hall, at which point he turned and so got into Chatham Street and the Bowery. At last, after a long walk, and when the man himself was almost failing from the exertion of it, he stopped before an open door in the dirtiest of the streets through which we had come, and disappeared instantly. I came up to the door almost as soon as he had passed through; and found myself before a steep flight of steps, at the bottom of which through a glass partition I could see men smoking and drinking, and hear them bawling uncouth songs.

  It was a fearful hole, peopled by fearful men; all nations and all sorts of villains were represented there: low Englishmen, Frenchmen, Russians, even blacks and Chinamen; yet into that hole must I go if I would follow Paolo to the end.

  You may forgive me if I hesitated a moment; waited to balance up the odds upon my recognition. I might have decided even then that the risk was too great, the certainty of discovery too palpable; but at that moment a party of six hulking seamen descended the steps before me, and, taking advantage of the cover of their shoulders, I pulled my cap right over my face and passed through the swinging door with them into the most dangerous-looking place I have ever set foot in.

  The room was long and narrow; banked its whole length by benches that had once been covered with red velvet, but now showed torn patches and the protruding wool of the stuffing. Mirrors were raised from the dado of the ragged seats to the frieze of the smoke-blackened ceiling; but they were for the most part cracked, and some had lost much of their glass. The accommodation for drinkers consisted of marble-topped tables, old and worn and stained with the dirt which was characteristic everywhere of the foul den; but there was nothing but boards beneath one’s feet; and the wretched bar at the uppermost end of the chamber was no more than a plain deal bin with a high stool behind it for the serving man; he being a great negro, grotesquely attired as a man of fashion. Indeed, had not the whole place been so threatening, I should have paused to laugh at this dusky scoundrel, whose white hat sat jauntily on the side of his woolly head, and whose well-cut black coat was ornamented with a great bunch of white flowers. But there was evil in this man’s face, and in the faces of the others who sat close-packed on the faded couches; and when I had paused for a moment to take reckoning of the room, I passed quickly to a bench near the door, and there sat wedged against a fair-haired seaman, whose look stamped him to be a Russian.

  The scene was very new to me. I had heard of these drinking dens in that low quarter of New York called the Bowery; but my American friends had cautioned me often to have no truck with them should I visit their city. They spoke of the poor regard for life which prevailed there; of murders committed with an impunity which was as astounding as it was impossible for the police to suppress; of mysterious disappearances, mysterious alone in the lack of knowledge as to the victim’s end; and they conjured me, if I would see such things, at least to go under the escort of the police. All this I had paid scant attention to at the time; but the reality was before me with its grim terror. The room was filled with the scum of sea-going humanity; foul smoke from foul pipes floated in choking clouds to the dirt-begrimed ceiling; great brown pots of strong drink were emptied as though their contents had been milk; horrid blasphemies were uttered as choice dishes of speech; ribald songs rose in giant discord as the spirit moved the singers. Now and again, betwixt the shouting and the singing, a young girl, whose presence in such a company turned my heart sick, played upon a harp, while to serve the crew with liquor there was a mahogany-faced hag whom the men addressed as “Mother Catch.” An old crone, bent and doubled like a bow, yet vigorous in her work, and shuffling with quick steps as she laid down the jugs, or took the uncouth orders so freely given to her, she seemed to have the eye of a hawk; nor did I escape her glance, for I had not been seated before the marble table a moment when she shuffled up to me and stood glaring with her shining eyes, the very presentment of an old-time witch.

  “Ha!” she said sharply, “ha! a sailor boy in proper sailor clothes; ho, little man, will ye wet yer throat for a pretty gentleman?”

  I did not like her mock courtesy, or the way in which she pronounced the word “gentleman”; but I called for some beer to get her away, and when she brought it I remembered that I had no American money; but I put an English florin before her and waited for the change. She hissed at the sight of it like a serpent about to strike.

  “Ha! Englishman! and no money; ho! ho! ye’ve got to find it, little man. Mother Catch likes you; but she spits on it!”

  She spoke the last words in such a loud voice that several men near me turned to look, and I feared to become the centre of a brawl. This would have defeated everything, so I threw her a half-sovereign, and, feigning her own savage merriment, I said—

  “Gold, little woman, English gold; spit on it for luck, little woman”; and I am bound to say that she did so, hobbling out of the room with the gold piece clenched in her nut-cracker jaws. Then I began to search with my eyes for Paolo; and, although the smoke was very thick, I saw him seated near the drinking-bar, a tumbler of brandy before him, his arms resting on the edge of the counter where the liquor was sold. I judged then that he had made no idle visit to this place; and in a quarter of an hour or so my surmise was proved. The glass door again swung open; three men entered through it, and I recognised the three of them in a moment. The first was the Irishman, “Four Eyes”; the second-was the lantern-jawed Scotsman, who had been addressed in Paris as “Dick the Ranter”; the third was “Roaring John,” into whose face Dan had emptied the contents of his duck-gun three days before. The ruffian had his mouth all bound in a bloody rag, so I hugged myself with the knowledge that he had been well hit; but he was in nowise depressed; and, although the gun had stopped his speech, he smacked Paolo on the back when he greeted him, and the others soon had their faces in the great brown jugs.

  The sight of this company warmed me to the work. I seemed to stand on the threshold of discovery. If only I could follow them hence to Black’s house the whole aim of my journey would be fulfilled. And why not? I said; they will leave this place and go to their leader some time—if not now, at least tomorrow; and why should I lose touch with them? So far it was certain that my presence was undiscovered. The hag had suspicion of me, but not in their way; the men were too busy, I thought, talking of their own affairs to meddle even with their neighbours. Dan knew on what business I had left the ship, and would quieten Roderick’s alarm for me. It was plain that fortune had turned kindly eyes on me.

  I sat sipping the beer and smoking an old clay pipe, which I found in the breast-pocket of Dan’s garment, doing these things to escape the remarks which the neglect of them would have occasioned, when there was some change in the bibulous entertainment as yet provided for us in the drink-hole. The hag raised her voice, worn to a croak with long scolding, and shrieked—

  “Jack’s a-going to dance for ye! Silence, pretty boys. Ho! ho! Jack the Fire-Devil, will ye listen, then? And it’s help me move the tables ye will, Master Dick, or ye’re no minister that I took ye for. Back, my pretty gentlemen, lest I throw me vitriol on ye. Ha! but they love me like their own mother!”

  She poked round with her stick at the seamen’s feet, compelling them to fall back, and to make a ring for the dancer in the centre; and I saw with no satisfaction that the foul-mouthed villain who was called the “Ranter” came to give her his help to the work.

  “Hoots, mither,” he cried in his broadest Scots, “did ye mistake that I was a gentleman frae the Hielands
o’ bonnie Scotland? And I’ll be verra glad to throttle some for a wee cup o’ yer pretty poison. So ho! ye lubbers, it’s an ower-fine discoors for a summer Sawbath that my boot will teach you. Mak’ way, mak’ way!”

  Thus, with unctuous mockery and rough menace, the fellow followed the fury round the room, and forced the drunken crew to the wall. He came to my seat; but I buried my head in my hands, lest he should have carried the memory of my face from Paris; and he passed, having taken no notice of me as I hoped. Soon he had made a great ring for the dancing; and one of the long mirrors opened, showing a door, whose existence I had not suspected; and a great negro with a flaming firepot entered the room. His entry brought applause; but he was a common quack of a performer at the beginning, for he made pretence to eat the fire, and to bring it up again from his vitals. Then, to some wild music from a fiddler, he bound coils of the flaming stuff about his head; and, the lamps being lowered, he gave us a weird picture of a man dancing, all circled with flame; working himself up until I recalled pictures of the dervishes I had seen in the old quarter of Cairo. It was an extraordinary exhibition, and it pleased the men about so that they roared with delight. I was watching it at last as intent as they were; but my attention was suddenly diverted by the sense that something under the marble table at which I was sitting was pulling at my leg. I looked down quickly, and saw a strange sight: it was the black face of the lad Splinters, who had been treated so brutally in Paris. He, crouching under the table, was making signs to me, earnest, meaning signs, so that without any betrayal I leant my head down as though upon my hands, and spoke to him—

  “What is it, lad?” I asked in a whisper. “What do you want to say?”

  “Don’t stop here, sir!” he answered in a state of great agitation. “They know you, and are going to kill you!”

  He said no more, crawling away at once; but he left me hot with fear. The mad dance was still going on, and the room was quite dark save for the glow cast by the spirit flames about the huge negro. It occurred to me at once that the darkness might save me if only I could reach the door unobserved; and I left my seat, and pushed amongst the men, passing nearer and nearer to the street, until at last I was at the very portal itself. Then I saw that a change had been made while I had been sitting. The doors of glass were wide open, but the way to the street without was no longer clear—an iron curtain had been drawn across the entrance, and a hundred men could not have forced it.

  This was a terrible discovery. It seemed to me that the iron door had been closed for an especial purpose. I knew, however, that when the dance was over some of the audience would wish to go out, and so I waited by the curtain until the lamps were turned up, and the negro had disappeared. The men were then about to push their tables to the centre again, but the hag raised her voice and cried—

  “As you are, my pretty gentleman; it’s only the first part ye’ve been treated to. No, no; ye don’t have the door drawn till ye’ve seen yer mother dance awhile. Good boys, all of ye, there’s work to do; ho! ho! work to do, and Mother Catch will do it!”

  At the words “work to do” a strange silence, which I did not then understand, fell on the company. Somehow, all the men immediately around me slunk away, and I found myself standing quite alone, with many staring at me. The four men whom most I feared had turned their backs, and were busy with their mugs; but the rest of the assembly had eyes only for the terrible woman and for myself. Presently the discordant music began again. The hag, who had been bent double, reared herself up with a “Ho!” after the fashion of a Scottish sword-dancer, and began to make a wretched shuffle with her feet. Then she moved with a hobble and a jig to the far end of the room; and she called out, beginning to come straight down to the door whereby I stood. I know not what presentiment forewarned me to beware as the creature drew near; but yet I felt the danger, and the throbbing of my heart. That I could hope for help amongst such a crew was out of the question. I had my revolver in my pocket, but had I shown it twenty barrels would have answered the folly. There was nothing to do but to face the screeching woman; and this I did as the unearthly music became louder, and the stillness of the men was speaking in its depth.

  At the last, the old witch, who had danced for some moments at a distance of ten paces from the spot where I stood, became as one possessed. She made a few dreadful antics, uttered a piercing shriek, and hurled herself almost on me. In that instant I remember seeing the three men with Paolo suddenly rise to their feet, while the others in the room called out in their excitement. But the hag herself drew from her breast something that she had concealed there; and, as she stood within a yard of me, she brought it crash upon my head, and all my senses left me.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  ASTERN OF THE “LABRADOR.”

  Complete unconsciousness is a blessing, I think, which comes rarely to us. Sleep, they say, is akin to death; yet I have often questioned if there be an absolute void of existence in sleep; and I am sure that in few cases where a blow robs us of sense does the brain cease to be active or to bring dreams in its working. I have been struck down unconscious twice in my life; but in each instance I have suffered much during the after-days from that trouble of mind which is akin to the feverish dream of an exhausted system. Horrid sights does the brain then bear to us; terrible situations; weird phantoms known to the opium-eater; wild struggles with unnatural enemies; wrestlings even for existence itself. All these I knew during the days that followed my rash visit to the drinking den. How long I lay, or where, I know not to this hour; but my dreams were very terrible, and there was a fever at my head which the ice of a great lake scarce could have cooled. Often I would know that I had consciousness, and yet I could not move hand or foot, so that the terror moved me to frenzies of agony, though my lips were sealed, and I felt myself passing to death. Or I would live again through the night when Martin Hall died, and from the boat where I watched the holocaust, I climbed to the shrouds of the cutter, and stood with my poor friend in the very shelter of the spreading flames. Or I struggled with Black, having hunted him to his own quarter-deck, and there with great force of men I sought to lay hands on him; but he escaped me with a mocking laugh, and when I looked again the deck was empty.

  For short moments the delirium must have left me. Once I opened my eyes, and knew that the sun shone upon me, and that the breeze which cooled my forehead blew from the sea; but my fatigue was so great that I fell asleep in the next instant, and enjoyed pure rest during many hours. When I regained consciousness for the second time, it was because rain beat upon my face, a drizzling warm rain of late summer, and there was spray from a fresh sea. For some minutes I set myself to ask where I was; but I knew that I was bound at the left hand and at my feet, and, to my unutterable astonishment, when I raised my head, I saw that I lay in an open boat which was moving very slowly, but my feet were towards the stern of it, and, as my head lay below the level of the gunwale, I could see nothing of the power which moved the boat or of the scene about us.

  It was a long time before my throbbing head let me put together a chain of thought to account for my position. The scene at the drinking den would not at first come back to me, think as I would; but when it did, the clue which was lacking came with it. There could be no doubt that I had walked into a trap, and that the hag who had struck me had been in the pay of Paolo and his crew. These men must have taken me as I lay, and so brought me to this boat; but what time had intervened, or where I was, I knew no better than the dead. Only this was sure, that I was in the hands of one of the greatest scoundrels living, and that, if his past were any precedent, my hours of life would be few.

  I cannot tell you why it was, but, strange to say, this reflection did not give me very great alarm at the moment. Perhaps I suffered too much from bodily weakness, and would have welcomed any release, even death; perhaps I was buoyed up with that eternal hope which bears its most generous blossom in the springtime of life. In either case, I put away the thought of danger, and set to the task of conning my
position a little more closely. The boat in which I lay was painted white, and was of elegant build. She had all the fine lines of a yacht’s jolly-boat; and when I raised my head I could see that her fittings had been put in only at great expense. She was not a large boat, but the centre seat had been removed from her to let me lie on a tarpaulin which covered her keel, and the stern seat had been used to bind my feet. A second tarpaulin, folded twice, had been propped under my head, but my left hand was bound close to the boat thwart, and there was a rope doubled round my right forearm so that I could not raise myself an inch, though my right hand was free. The meaning of this apparent neglect I soon learnt. There was a flask on the edge of the tarpaulin which supported my head, and by it half a dozen rather fine captain’s biscuits. I had a prodigious thirst on me, and I drank from the flask; but found it to contain weak brandy, and would willingly have exchanged thrice its contents for a long draught of pure water. But the biscuits I could not touch; and I began to be chilled with the rain which fell copiously, and with the sea which sent spray in fountains upon my body.

  Up to this time, I had heard no sound of human voices, but the silence was broken at last by a shout, and the boat ceased to move.

  “All hands, make sail!” cried someone, apparently above me; and after that I heard the “yo-heave” of the men hauling, as I judged, at a main-sail. The second order, “Sheets home!” proved to me that I was behind a sailing ship, perhaps a yacht which these men had secured, as they got La France—and burnt her. I shuddered at the second thought, and my head began to burn again despite the wet. Did they mean to leave me there until the end of it, when the cold and my wound should do their work? Had they forgotten me? Had they any reason for keeping me alive? My questions were in part answered by a sudden shout from the deck of the ship.

  “Ho, Bill, is the young un gone?”

  “No, my hearty, he’s gone about!”